The Princess of Baker Street, page 14
“You and me both.”
“Oh, good. I’m glad I’m not the only one.” Shaylee laughs, and it sounds so good that I laugh too. “But there’s more I want you to know…. There’s the emotional part of my transition that I deal with by seeing my therapist and attending a transgender teens group. But part of my transition is physical, so it involves medical things.”
Trying not to be too obvious, I check out her body to see if it looks in any way different from last year. “You still kind of look like a skinny kid, you know.” Realizing that came out sounding mean, I clear my throat and then try to fix my words. “What I’m trying to say is that you’re not like a… a super curvy lady, that’s all. And seriously, Shaylee, we were about the same height when I left, and I’ve grown maybe three inches, but you seem… you know, like pretty much the same.”
Shaylee tilts her head, and I suspect she’s still trying to decide if she can trust me with her most personal secrets. Finally she nods once like she’s made up her mind. “I take puberty blockers, Eric. I’ve been taking them since last winter. They stop puberty so my body doesn’t mature in ways I’m not comfortable with.”
“They can do that?”
“Uh-huh. That’s why my body hasn’t changed much. I want to start taking female hormones soon.” She stops for a second and then adds, “But I’ve always been a girl. I just want to match the outside of me to the inside.”
“That makes a lot of sense.”
“I think so. And Eric, if I have to finish high school somewhere else—a place where nobody knows that I used to try to live as Joey—I will. But I know who I am, and I like being me. I’m never going to try to escape the world again.”
“I’m glad I came here today,” I blurt out. I’m so relieved she doesn’t want to die that I have an urge to hug her, but I’m not sure whether it would be okay, so I hold back. “What’s going to happen at school? How are you going to handle what went down in the cafeteria today?”
“My parents have a meeting with the superintendent of the Wild Acres School System and the entire high school administration tomorrow morning. I’m sure Mom will suggest more sensitivity training for the student body, like they did last year, after… after what I did.” Shaylee stands up and walks to the window but leans her back on it so she can keep looking at me. “Dad will probably just sit there and shake his head—and be embarrassed that I’m his ‘son.’” She makes the air quotes around the world with her fingers because Shaylee is nobody’s son, and narrows her eyes again, but she can’t seem to stay mad. Her eyes fill like they did in the cafeteria, and tears spill over onto her cheeks.
“He still doesn’t accept who you are?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“I don’t think he ever will.” She makes this sobbing sound and then covers her face with her hands. Again I want to hug her.
We’re quiet for a few minutes, both of us trapped in our own thoughts. Shaylee’s most likely wondering why her father won’t accept her truth, and I’m just plain furious at everybody who’s making her life harder than it has to be.
“Shaylee! Your father’s pulling into the driveway!” Mrs. Kinkaid shouts up the stairs.
Shaylee wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse. “You’d better go. Dad is going to want to discuss this.”
I get up from the bed, but instead of heading for the door, I turn to face her. And then I bend down to give her a squeeze. I bury my nose in her hair and smile when I realize that it smells as sweet as I thought it would. “Thanks for talking to me about… like, everything.”
She hugs me back. “Friendship is a two-way street—you’ve got to listen, but you also have to tell each other what’s going on.”
Shaylee’s right. I learned the hard way that relationships need at least as much give as take. I don’t plan to forget it anytime soon.
We don’t stop hugging until we hear the front door open and slam closed.
26
IT TAKES a few days to sort out, but the major instigators of the incident in the cafeteria end up getting in-school suspensions. Word is that Travis, Lily, and a few other key players are spending every minute they’re not doing class assignments talking with Mr. Weeks about why they did what they did, how they think it made Shaylee feel, and convincing him they’ll avoid doing the same kind of thing in the future. Either they’re going to get more sensitive, or they’re going to have to fake it very well to satisfy Mr. Weeks, who is as tough as a guidance counselor gets, not to mention satisfying Dr. Rosenthal. And the entire school administration seems to be interpreting the large number of kids who bullied Shaylee as a serious “culture problem” in our high school.
Yesterday the whole student body of Wild Acres High School attended a lecture given by a transgender woman. Darlene Detoni told us how confusing and scary and lonely it was to be a teenager trying her best to live as the gender she was assigned at birth, which wasn’t her true gender. While she was talking, I looked around at the faces of the students to see if they were scowling or rolling their eyes or snickering, but they weren’t. Most of the kids seemed kind of spellbound by Ms. Detoni, who is now an admissions advisor at a college in Massachusetts and knows how to give a good speech. A few kids wiped their eyes as she explained how isolated she felt, and not just when she was at school with kids who didn’t understand her. She told us she felt separated from her own body until she decided to live as the person she really is.
This morning Shaylee got on the bus at the Baker Street bus stop. Travis and Lily won’t have bus privileges until their suspensions are over, which is definitely a good thing, but I don’t think they would have intimidated Shaylee today because she didn’t skulk around like she hoped nobody would notice her. She walked down the street toward Emily’s house with her head high. For someone who had been bullied on the last day she was in school, she looked pretty confident.
It seems like it takes forever to be time for science class, which is our only class together. “I seriously missed my science study buddy,” I tell her as soon as we’re sitting beside each other. “I don’t know if my grade can be fixed.”
Shaylee smiles. “Well, we’ll see what we can do. Want to come over tonight to study?”
“More than you know.” When she smiles at me, I melt. I melt a little more each time we’re together.
Mr. Diego clears his throat at the front of the room, so we stop the small talk and pay attention. “Before we get into the wonders of meiosis, I’d just like to welcome Shaylee back to our science class. We certainly missed you last week.”
Shaylee’s whole face turns a color close to magenta, and I wonder if Mr. Diego did the right thing by shining a spotlight on her. But when the kids in the classroom shout out things like “We love you, Shaylee!” and “Super glad you’re back!” I decide saying what needs to be said, even when it feels risky, is usually the right way to go.
I EAT dinner with Mom before I head over to Shaylee’s house for a serious science tutoring session. Mom is definitely improving in the cooking department. Her meatloaf wasn’t half-bad, but I’m not sure she should have microwaved the potatoes. They were sort of chewy.
Next time the potatoes will go into the oven. Mom says we all have to live and learn, and I totally agree.
Like always I admire the stately yellow house from the street before I start up the walkway. But for the first time ever, when I knock, Mrs. Kinkaid doesn’t come to the door wearing her heart on her sleeve. In fact, nobody comes to the door. Voices boom inside the house, though, so I crack open the door, figuring I’ll call out to whoever is in the next room to let them know I’m here.
What I hear freezes me on the doorstep.
“I don’t blame those kids for what they did to you in the cafeteria! Somebody has to remind you of who you are—and that’s Joseph Kinkaid—a fourteen-year-old boy!” He stops for a minute and then seems to think of something else he wants to say. “You sure don’t listen to me when I tell you.”
“Kevin, please!” Mrs. Kinkaid begs. She’s close to hysterical.
“You coddle him, Greta, and you always have. Just take a look at him—he’s wearing a skirt and a pink sweater. And the boy probably has a bra on, for God’s sake!”
“Dad—stop it! Let me go!”
“Kevin, take your hands off her!”
“You aren’t going to pretend you’re a girl anymore when I’m around! It’s over, Joey. No more puberty blockers or girls’ clothes or makeup—I’m putting my foot down like I should have done years ago when your mother first let you wear her dress!”
“Dad—let go—no, not my hair!”
Several silent seconds pass, and then Shaylee comes bolting toward the front door. Her sweater is twisted and sags off one shoulder, and stubby twigs of blonde hair that have been pulled out of her neat ponytail stick straight out over her forehead like a visor. And there are black mascara stains under her eyes—evidence she’s been crying. Shaylee sees me, and for a second, she stops and covers her face with her hands in an attempt to hide, but then she thinks better of it. She takes a step forward, pulls open the door, pushes past me, and races down the walkway onto the sidewalk.
So I do what I did best when I was a little kid—I chase her. But this time we’re not swimming down the sidewalk in our world beneath the sea or flying high in the sky like graceful and important birds. This time Shaylee’s running for her life, and I’m just trying to catch up.
She races down the Baker Street sidewalk. For a few seconds, I wonder if she’s going to cut over toward the path leading to the pump house pond so she can drown her sorrows, but then I realize it doesn’t much matter where she’s heading. Wherever she’s going, I plan to follow along. Instead of running into the woods, she sprints down Baker Street, and I don’t catch up to her until we’re close to my house. I grab her arm and shout, “Come into my house and we can talk!”
As she yanks her arm out of my grasp, Shaylee yells back, “Why? What’s the point of talking? I can’t be who he wants me to be!”
“Let’s just talk about it.” This time I don’t shout, and I don’t try to grab her again. And I don’t have to worry that my house is too much of a disaster for her to see because Mom and me have worked hard to fix it up. Even the long-legged running bugs are gone, and I don’t miss them one bit. I head down the dirt driveway toward our cottage. “Come on.”
This time Shaylee follows me.
MOM IS so cool. She welcomes Shaylee with a smile that’s just the right size, pours us each a glass of ginger ale, and disappears into her bedroom so we can talk in private.
“Dad tried to pull my sweater off because it’s a girl’s sweater, and then he grabbed my hair and tore it out of my ponytail. I ran out the door right after he grabbed the scissors and started to cut the front of my hair off!” She reaches up and tugs on the short blonde strands above her eyes. “He’s never going to accept me,” she says, picking up one of the checkered napkins on the table and trying to clean off the black stains under her eyes.
“Does he have to accept you? I mean, can’t you still be you even if your dad refuses to see you as Shaylee?”
Shaylee shrugs and sniffs a few times. She’s really upset, and I don’t blame her. “I tried to be a boy, Eric. I tried for years, and it didn’t work. It just made me want to die.” I hate hearing her say that, but it’s time for her to be honest with herself, and I think it helps that she can say these truthful things out loud to me. “Being a girl has its challenges at school, and I know I have a tough road ahead of me in lots of ways if I want to transition to be physically female, but it’s my only choice if I want to… to live. I have to try to do this.” She puts down the napkin, but the black stains under her eyes have dried there. “Eric, I’m already a girl. And I’ve always been a girl. I can’t be a boy for anybody.”
“I think you have to talk to your mother about all of this, Shaylee.”
“But I don’t want to be the reason they get a divorce.”
“You wouldn’t be the reason. Your dad’s actions would be the reason. Now drink your soda.” I sound like somebody’s mother. “It’ll make you feel better.” Ginger ale always used to calm my belly down back when I was scared and alone. I don’t need to drink it as much lately because my belly is in much better shape. I just kind of like it now.
We sit at the kitchen table drinking our ginger ale and thinking until Shaylee’s cell phone rings. She picks it up and says, “Yes, I’m okay, Mom. I’m at Eric’s house.” After a brief pause, Shaylee asks, “But are you okay?”
As she listens to her mother’s reply, Shaylee nods a few times, and then she asks me, “Can I stay here tonight? Mom and Dad need some more time to talk.” Her eyes are round and wide and scared.
I nod. “Sure. You can take my bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch.” I’m not worried because my sheets are always clean these days. It crosses my mind that life has turned around for me and looks a lot brighter than last year at this time. I hope the same can happen for Shaylee.
“Thanks, Eric.” After Shaylee tells her mother she’s all set for tonight and that she’ll stop by in the morning to get ready for school, she ends the call. “Want to study science for a while?”
I realize I’m still wearing my backpack, and so I swing it off my shoulders and lower it to the floor. “If you’re up to it.”
“I think it’ll take my mind off what’s going on at home.”
“Then let’s hit the books.” I pull out my textbook and stick it on the table.
We study until Shaylee starts falling asleep in her chair.
27
WHEN WE get to Shaylee’s house in the morning, Mr. Kinkaid’s truck is gone. I’m sure she notices and that she wonders why he’s left for work so early, but she doesn’t say anything. We go inside and find Mrs. Kinkaid sitting at the kitchen table, wrapped in her fuzzy light-blue bathrobe and drinking a cup of coffee. As soon as we come through the door, she stands up and rushes toward Shaylee, hugs her, and then pats down the spikes of hair poking straight out over Shaylee’s forehead. “I asked your father to leave.”
Shaylee starts to cry and exclaims through her tears, “I’m so sorry, Mom!”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. You aren’t why I asked him to leave.” Mrs. Kinkaid takes Shaylee’s face firmly between her hands. “I’m not happy living with your father. I don’t feel that I know him anymore, and I don’t want to be married to the man he’s become.”
“Mom!” Shaylee throws herself into her mother’s arms, and I step toward the door, thinking it’s time I make my exit.
But Mrs. Kinkaid stops me. “Eric, please don’t go. I think Shaylee needs a friend this morning.”
I look at Shaylee to make sure it’s okay that I stick around.
“Mom’s right, Eric. I want you to stay. And I need to go to school—I missed all of last week, and I can’t afford to miss any more.”
“Okay, dear.” Mrs. Kinkaid pats Shaylee on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get ready for school? I’ll get dressed too. And I’ll drive you two there so you’re on time.”
“I hope I can make my hair look normal.” Before Shaylee heads up the stairs, she stops and says softly, “Thanks for chasing me down Baker Street, Eric.”
I think, I’ll follow you everywhere, like I told her once when we were kids. But I just say, “Anytime, Shaylee.”
Epilogue
WHEN YOU’RE standing on the sidewalk looking up at the big yellow house on Baker Street, it seems like the perfect place for a happily-ever-after. And from the very same perspective, the tiny tired cottage, a ten-minute run down the same road, looks like it’s seen plenty of better days and nothing good could ever happen there.
“You can’t really tell what’s going on inside a place just by judging from the outside,” I say for no good reason, other than that it crossed my mind, as we sit on the swings at the little park near the diner. When we hang out at the park, it kind of feels like “our place,” and swinging is the best way to kill time until Mom’s shift ends.
It’s almost as if Shaylee’s a mind reader and knows the tiny details of what I’m thinking, but I’m pretty sure that can’t happen in real life. “Well, don’t be surprised to see a ‘For Sale’ sign in front of my house later this week. Mom says we have to find a place to live that’s smaller and more affordable.”
“Maybe you’d be happier living in a tiny beat-up cottage like ours.” I’m a little bit in love with our cottage since Mom and I moved back in and the bugs moved out. The new nonleaky refrigerator doesn’t hurt either. “You know, my mom says not to judge a book by its cover,” I add. I used to do that with people too, but I’m fourteen now and have learned a lot since I was thirteen.
“I think that’s good advice,” Shaylee replies. I want her to look at me, but she’s staring off into the dark.
I’m stuffed from the huge ice cream sundaes we just polished off at the Downtown Diner. Mom drizzled way too much hot fudge and butterscotch on our ice cream, but neither of us had any complaints. And I’m happy to be hanging out with Shaylee for the rest of the night, even if we’re technically just killing time. Once in a while we put studying aside to just be together, like right now. These are the best times. “Don’t worry, you’ll be okay when you move. If you want, I’ll help you set up your bedroom.”
“I’d love that.” She’s quiet for a minute and then says, “Mom told me that when she asked him for a divorce, Dad didn’t cry or beg us to stay. He told her she’d better start packing her dishes and looking for a job.” I can’t tell how she feels about this just by the sound of her voice. But I figure she’s hurt and worried and will let me know when she’s ready.
